


Child Soldiers

by eurusholmmes



Category: Star Wars Prequel Trilogy, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Gen, Hallucinations, Hurt No Comfort, Nightmares, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Self-Destruction, Self-Esteem Issues, Self-Hatred, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-28
Updated: 2021-01-18
Packaged: 2021-03-04 10:08:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 8
Words: 7,919
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24967981
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eurusholmmes/pseuds/eurusholmmes
Summary: These are the lives of the clones who fought in the Clone Wars. They are not treated as people. It is this simple: They were bred to be inherently loyal, to never question their orders and to comply with what they were told. It took them time to learn that they had free will. That they weren’t like the droids they spent so many years dismantling with guns and tanks, that they have the ability to make their own choices because they’re human. They were not taught about basic human emotion. The clones were created to be killing machines to win what would eventually be a war that remained lost on both sides.Neither the Separatists or the Republic won the Clone Wars, but there is one thing that is certain: the clones lost. They lost their lives, they lost their freedom, and they lost each other.
Comments: 7
Kudos: 56





	1. Intro

**Author's Note:**

> This is the first time I've ever written anything for the clones that hasn't been a reader insert, but after watching The Clone Wars and how in depth the characterization became for the clones, I felt like I owed them this. This will also be posted on Tumblr (@morganas-pendragons)
> 
> Please let me know what you think! A comment is so appreciated!

**Hello. To any of you who are reading this, this is the story. The grand story. The one that tops all the others.**

If you are privileged enough to be reading this, then you must know about them. The clones. The _soldiers._ The people who died for a lost cause. A caused they believed in wholly until the very end. If you don’t.. you will by the time you’ve finished this. 

Their story is here in the pages of this series. Their story begins at birth, in a growth tank on a planet called Kamino. 

And it was a tragedy from the very beginning. 

Imagine a story where everything goes wrong. The people in the story - the pawns by the grand designer of it all - are unaware of their true purpose, of the real reason why they come into the world with heaving lungs and bright eyes that are so desperate to _live._

Imagine not knowing the reason for your creation. You’re just… _born._ Being forced to be on the front lines of war, barely a child yourself, trained to be cruel, cold, and ruthless. Imagine being scrutinized for emotion and told it was a weakness. Imagine never getting to mourn the brothers you lose and remain helpless to do anything for them. 

These are the lives of the clones who fought in the Clone Wars. They are not treated as people. It is this simple: They were bred to be inherently loyal, to never question their orders and to comply with what they were told. It took them _time_ to learn that they had free will. That they weren’t like the droids they spent so many years dismantling with guns and tanks, that they have the ability to make their own choices because they’re _human._ They were not taught about basic human emotion. The clones were created to be killing machines to win what would eventually be a war that remained lost on both sides. 

Neither the Separatists or the Republic won the Clone Wars, but there is one thing that is certain: the clones _lost._ They lost their lives, they lost their freedom, and they lost each other. 

***

I think you need to know something. You need to be aware that soldiers do not _ever_ come out of war unscathed. Just because they’re healthy physically - they bear no external scars and no physical marks of their time on the front - it doesn’t mean they don’t have wounds on their _soul._ The deepest wounds are often the ones you don’t see. 

The clones you are going to read about have been traumatized. Tormented. Their stories are _private_ and it took some convincing to coax them into sharing it.. but I believe that a great deal will be learned through them. I ask that when you read the stories about these brave, brave men… that you will not forget about their sacrifice. About all they endured for the Republic that they loved and didn’t love them. 

These are the veterans of The Clone Wars,

These are their stories,

These are the child soldiers who died for a better world. A world that never came. A world they didn’t get to see. 

But two of them did. 


	2. CC-3636: Wolffe

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is Commander Wolffe's story.

“Look at me and tell me what you see.”

Wolffe’s brothers all tell him the same thing. It’s a constant cycle of the same words they use to describe the valor he exhibits in the heat of every battle they face. Courage. Strength. Endurance. Fearlessness. If you can name the very things that you believe soldiers to be the epitome of.. Wolffe has heard it.

Believing it, however, is an entirely different story.

Being one of the oldest clones from among the first batches bred within Tipoca City on Kamino meant that Wolffe, along with the other _ori’vod_ , had a reputation to maintain. He was supposed to look over his younger brothers. Mentor them. Mold them into better soldiers and better men then he could ever aspire to be.

The Kaminoans created the clones to be the personal weapons of The Republic. They formed together the DNA of Jango Fett with their own hands and made something capable of following orders without question, hands perfectly built to hold the weapons that would bring their enemies to their knees. They didn’t consider that their soldiers would have hearts. Or minds.

They never considered that their soldiers would feel.  
And oh… how they _bled_.

Not just external bleeding like the type you receive from an inflicted wound… but has anyone ever told you about the scars that you can’t see? The ones you obtain on your soul. The ones that if left unchecked will fester and rot from the inside out.

All of the clones who have seen the glory of battle and have endured the battlefield have their scars. Some of them cower beneath their helmets for fear of what others will say, or the scorn, or the look of pity because of the horrible disfigurement that the scars bring no matter where they are on their person.

Commander Wolffe’s scar is born of a failed battle between himself and Asajj Ventress on Khorm. He can still feel the heat of the lightsaber, hear the way he screamed loudly until his mind registered the pain and the way his eyes rolled back into his head just as he saw his brothers encircling him to protect their Commander from the Sith.

His internal scars are born of something far more fatal. They are of crippling self hatred - the way he will never be who he wants to be and how he prays to the Maker he could be somebody else, anyone else; The way he has failed his brothers and his buir, the way he hates himself for not being the soldier the Kaminoans created - and an insecurity that continues to plague him even after he’s freed from the threat of decommissioning and cleared to return to the front with the rest of his Pack.

Self-hatred and insecurity are his demons. They claw at his shoulders and dig into his skin so deep it’s almost like they belong there, following him wherever he goes.

He’s resigned himself to it.

Wolffe’s demons leave him to rest in the heat of battle when he’s surrounded by his brothers and his Jedi. They stop the whispers that echo in his mind when he picks up the gun, narrows his eye on his target, and throws all caution to the wind when he drops that gun and renders those droids lifeless with just his bare hands and the ferocity of his gaze. They are terrified of him.

And while the droids of the Separatist armies may be terrified of him, no one is more afraid of Wolffe then Wolffe is of himself.

***

The demons come out to play late at night when all the other brothers are asleep. Wolffe often disappears to the communal bathroom in the GAR barracks for what he likes to call alone time, but in reality, it’s the only place he can go where no one will bother him. A place he can go where the incessant screaming ringing inside his mind dies.  
That was how it usually went, but not tonight.

Tonight they’re out for blood.

They want his.

 _Look at you, you miserable rat_. Wolffe white knuckles the sides of the sink and slowly lifts his gaze to the thing staring back at him in the mirror. There might have been a time he considered it to be himself, but the raw scar and the unbridled hatred that burns underneath the fluorescent lights is not the same man who General Koon calls his _ad_. His son. Look at what they turned you into. Look at what war made of you.  
He wishes he could take that scar away. He wishes he could’ve won that fight with Asajj on Khorm and kriffing killed her because if he did, his life would be so much easier. Maybe he wouldn’t fight so hard, maybe he wouldn’t hate himself, maybe he would be better.  
Wolffe can’t imagine being better. Nothing is going to fix him.

So he does the only thing he knows how to do.

He hurts.

Commander Wolffe lifts his hand and punches the glass so hard it shatters beneath his fist. Again, and again, and again, and it’s not until his knuckles bleed scarlet and stain the sink below that he relents.

 _Pain made you. Pain is your friend._  
  
He leaves the bathroom and returns to his cot for a fitful sleep. No one comments on the blood that spatters his blanket, no one dares to bat an eye at the state of his hand or the look in his eye that warns them all to stay as far away from him as possible.

Here’s the truth of the matter: You can’t save someone who doesn’t want to be saved.

You can love them. Care for them. Be there for them.

And you can hope it’s enough.

This is how it feels to be Commander Wolffe, Child Soldier of the Grand Army of the Republic.


	3. CT-7567: Captain Rex

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is Captain Rex's story.

_Please don’t leave me._

He whines low in his throat, barely a week old, as the caretakers at Tipoca City on Kamino leave him alone in the nursery with his other batchmates. It’s too bright. Too bright and too cold and he just wants to see _buir._ He wants to be held. He _needs_ to be held.

It will not ever come for him.

_Please don’t leave me._

His first words to Cody at such a young age, barely beginning his cadet training with the Kaminoans and hardly large enough to hold the guns they demand him to carry. He’s meant to fight a war, they say.

Children won’t win wars. Men do.

His _ori’vod_ is the pride and joy of the first batch of brothers. Everyone is wracked with jealousy once they realize that Kote is to be _mand’alor_. Or would be.. if they weren’t about to be sent off into the front lines of a battlefield.

Despite his rank, despite the fact that they almost never see each other, CT-7567 says it in a pleading whisper as his best friend and forever brother is dragged away with the other newly appointed commanders. Bly. Gree. Bacara. Fox. Wolffe. _Cody._

Rex watches them leave. He doesn’t dare speak a word. Sentimentality and attachment is wrong. It’s a weakness. Weakness gets you killed.

Nevertheless, his heart says what his lips wont: _Please don’t leave me._

The Kaminoans engineered their clones in a specific manner to cater to what the Republic needed of their soldiers for the impending war against the Separatists. They taught them how to fight and how to die, and that was it. One of the greatest failures on behalf of the Kaminoans was not teaching their soldiers about their _humanity._ About all the things that being a part of a war would thrust upon you. Grieving. Loss. Heartache. Anger. _Rage._

Rex finds that as the older he gets, his greatest difficulty is learning how to deal with the loss: Both of his brothers young and old.. and of himself.

***

When Rex is appointed Captain of the 501st Legion, Anakin Skywalker thinks he might just be the _perfect_ person to lead his men. Most of if not all of the clones he has encountered are loyal to a fault, devoted to the cause, and have no difficulty following the orders he gives them.

Anakin Skywalker doesn’t realize how much his captain’s heart _bleeds_ until he sees him on the battlefield, falling on his knees beside Kix as he eases another fallen brother into the dark. Skywalker watches something shift in Rex - he is not the stoic Captain he’s come to know in that moment, he is _hurting_ \- and he sees it in his expression clearly through the rays of the sun.

Anguish.

Rex’s lips might not say what he’s thinking, but Anakin knows that look. _Please don’t leave me._ The nearly fallen brother lifts his head and presses it against Rex’s, murmuring to his _ori’vod_ as he does so, and Rex’s shoulders slump forward as the brother goes limp in his arms.

The Captain of the 501st is as silent as the grave for the rest of their campaign.

***

It becomes habit once Umbara happens. Once Umbara happens, Rex is _petrified_ of losing more brothers to the brutal manner in which General Krell took them from him. His grief is muted. Numb. He refuses to let anyone carry the burden of his fear of losing _all_ of his brothers to the war. To death.

With each brother he is forced to watch die, Rex loses more of himself.

It’s easy to feel like the shell of who you once were when you’re constantly giving your heart out to people you have loved so desperately, so _ardently,_ who only turn around and take advantage of it.

Cody was not there when Rex stopped the 212th and 501st from massacring one another, but there is much more riding on his shoulders because of his Marshal Commander rank. He gets suffocating. He _gets_ the things that Rex refuses to talk about.

Which is why when Rex wakes up screaming in the middle of the night with Krell’s eyes burning in his mind and Hardcase’s face flickering behind his eyes, he yells for Cody.

Cody comes without question.

“Rex, _vod’ika_ ,” His older brother’s voice is soft and smooth as he kneels beside Rex’s cot and props his chin in his hands. “What is it? What do you need?”

Cody made a habit of running his fingers through Rex’s hair and curling his body around his own from behind on those rare nights as cadets where they were in the same barrack together. Those nights were some of the most restful sleeps Rex had been granted in his entire life. Cody made him… well… Cody made him feel safe then, and he makes him feel safe now.

Rex slumps forward and his body goes limp in his older brothers arms. He needs reassurance. He needs to know Cody won’t be like all the others, that Rex won’t be forced to watch him disappear before his eyes like so many of the brothers he’s had to hold on the battlefield. So many brothers he has said goodbye to in their final moments.

“ _Kote,_ ” He whispers into the dark, small and unsure and _afraid._ “Please. Please don’t leave me.”

Cody smiles against the curve of his neck and slowly eases himself into the cot before reply, “ _Rex’ika…_ ” He chides. “I thought you knew better by now that I won’t ever be leaving you.”

For that moment, Rex believes him. His older brother wouldn’t die to him. He won’t disappear like smoke.. He won’t leave Rex alone in this world.

For that moment, Rex feels peace. His fear abates, and for once he’s not thinking about all the things he’s going to face tomorrow, but of the confirmation that _someone_ is going to see the end of this war with him. Someone will be here when he wakes up tomorrow. Someone he knows. Someone he _loves._

He rests easily that night.

***

_There’s a time to live.. and a time to sleep._

It’s so hard. It’s so hard to not hate Cody for his _blatant_ lie. The lie in the truth of how he’d never leave him, about how they’d make it to the end of the war together because they’d been through enough. They’d suffered enough. They’d _lost_ enough, and the world should be giving them the soft ending they _deserved._

Rex wishes the Kaminoans had forewarned him about the hardest lesson he has learned to date while venturing into the ruined remains of _The Resolute_ to retrieve his brothers bodies for the graves he and Ahsoka have spent the last several days digging. He wishes they’d taught him how to _let go._

Letting go of the people you love is so… so hard. It’s even harder when they leave you involuntarily of no fault of their own. It just happens. _Life_ happens. Even then, the world keeps turning anyway.

When Rex has to bury his brothers, the ones who all share his face and many of them a similar story to this own.. he carries them all. He cannot let them go, because if he lets them go, then he _forgets._ He forgets their sacrifice. The way many of them made him laugh until he cried, the way his own men made him _smile_ and feel as if he had a purpose in this world. 

Oh.. the weight of them is familiar but crippling.. and as Rex lays them to rest with his own hands, he wonders if he’ll ever be able to let them go. 

It’s unlikely. Their ghosts will keep him company in the end. 


	4. CC-2224: Commander Cody

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is Commander Cody's story.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> codywan if you squint

From the moment he is old enough to walk, CC-2224 has an inexplicable weight upon his shoulders. He is _ori’vod._ He is the beloved to their buir - Jango Fett - and the title of manda’lor is to be passed onto him as the eldest of the clones. He is among the first batch. He is _revered._

Which is probably why he is deemed Marshall Commander.

Young CC-2224 does not want to be a leader. He wants to be _himself_ around his brothers. He doesn’t want the weight of being the eldest. Of being the best soldier.

He is not granted that luxury.

CC-2224 forgets what living feels like from the moment he is given his rank and told he will be deployed to the 212th Attack Battalion and the 7th Sky Corp, both of which are under the command of General Obi-Wan Kenobi.

“ _I’ve got your name,’’_ His younger brother, a soon-to-be captain named Rex, grins at him toothily as he presses his hands against his hips. He’s barely five years old and looks like a man _already. ‘’Cody.”_

Cody. He likes that name.

What he doesn’t like is the weight that comes with carrying it.

The older he gets, the more worn down he becomes. It gets particularly bad after he’s off world and receives news from Coruscant about.. him.

Everything tightens in Cody’s chest when he reads that report. The one that reads _**The Murder of High General Obi-Wan Kenobi**_ in Basic across the top of the data pad and the details that were recanted by General Skywalker and Commander Tano who had been there when it happened.

“Commander,” Boil’s voice echoes in the doorway of Cody’s quarters on _The Negotiator_ as Cody reads the report again, and again, and again. He looks worse then Cody feels.. like he already knew about the General before Cody had. “The 501st boys just called. We heard.” 

Flat. Monotonous. _Empty._

Why is it that all his brothers seem to have a clear control on their emotions except him? Why is it that he just.. _loves_ so deeply?

“Cody.” Crys’ enters his quarters first, ushering Boil inside as they both shut the door behind them and Wooley keeps guard outside. “We know what you’re thinking, _ori’vod._ Stop it.”

How is he supposed to stop the guilt that festers within him? He’s among the eldest clones. He has an obligation and a _duty_ not only to the GAR, but to his brothers - to _protect_ each life that hangs loosely in his fingers no matter how tightly he holds onto them - and to his Jedi. He’s supposed to be backup. To watch the General.. no matter what setting.

Cody wonders if Obi-Wan was cursing him when he died.

His heart-strings tug. His breathing stutters.

Crys’ eyes soften.

“ _Ori’vod..”_ He murmurs lowly, taking a timid step as he does so. Cody is so wrapped up in the deprecating thoughts that pound against his mind that he barely _sees_ his younger brother through his peripheral vision. “This is not your fault. You did not fail here.”

“We-We are supposed to watch his back!” Cody snarls, batting Crys away like a caged animal as he corners himself beside his cot. The blonde clone refuses to relent and kneels in front of his elder brother. “It’s our kriffing _duty.._ and I couldn’t even do that!”

Eldest siblings have the most responsibility, and Cody would overlook every single one of those if it means his _jetti_ was safe.

“We were sent elsewhere while Kenobi was on Coruscant for Jedi business. You _know_ that. It’s not like we have the ability to outright refuse the GAR even with one of their best Commanders leading us into glory.” It’s Boil who is talking now, moving away from his position by the door to speak to his older brother. “You couldn’t have controlled the outcome. This is _not_ on you.”

Boil lays his hand on his own. Crys follows the gesture and does the same to Cody’s other hand, and neither of them say a word.

The truth echoes in Cody’s head: He’s gone.

He sits in the shadows of his quarters and weeps.

_My failure._

When they’re stationed temporarily on Naboo, Rako Hardeen looks at him with the eyes of Obi-Wan Kenobi.

Cody punches him so hard in the mouth that he breaks two of his fingers.

***

(if you _really_ want to hurt.. read the final scene of rex’s part of this fic and then skip right to this)

Before The Order is given, Cody remembers the very last time he takes a look at his Jedi. Perched upon Boga and navigating the deep inclines of this specific city on Utapau that has housed Grievous, his eyes soften at the sight of the Jedi he’s come to care about so deeply before his holo beeps.

Something acrid settles in his stomach. Almost like his body is trying to _warn_ him.

“ _Execute Order 66.”_

Answering Order 66 remains his biggest failure. Even if it wasn’t entirely _his_ fault.

CC-2224 takes control of his body, gives the order, and watches Kenobi fall right into the water. A fall that should’ve killed him.

CC-2224 doesn’t blink twice as he orders scouting droids out around the perimeter to find the body.

_For the glory of the Empire._

***

When the chip finally disintegrates nearly fifteen years into his time as the Grand Admiral’s lap dog… Cody emerges from his chains that have restrained him since Utapau, and he heaves the largest gulp of air his lungs can manage as his knees give out beneath him.

Obi-Wan had always told him that he thought the commanders of the GAR were more attuned to the Force then their less superior brothers, the subordinates who often fell beneath the rank of Captain. He doesn’t believe in the kriffing Force. Not after Knightfall. What he _does_ know is that _something_ led him to this moon, away from the hunt of his remaining brothers that he was supposed to eliminate, and brought him to his knees at the tomb of the 501st Legion.

The ones who didn’t become a part of Vader’s Fist.

Cody doesn’t know if Rex is still alive. He doesn’t know _who_ Vader is, or why everyone is so afraid of him, or why that kriffing Sith Lord looks right through him as if he _knows_ him. Like they’re _friends._

Bile rises in his throat. He fists the snow in gloved fingers and retches at the grave before him. It’s Jesse’s. Apparently he’d been one of the last veterans of the Five-Oh-First to survive to the end of the war. 

“My failure.” He whispers to the ghost who crowd him. They should have listened to Fives. Listened to _reason_ instead of that undying devotion to their Jedi and the GAR that had dug most of them a premature grave. “ _My failure.”_

One in which he will carry with him forever. 


	5. Clone Trooper Tup

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is Tup's story.

He thinks about it long and hard in the aftermath of Umbara. Swathed in darkness and bathed in the auburn aura of the funeral pyre the 212th had helped the 501st build, the youngest of the Legion watches as he recites the death rites from memory and watches his beloved brothers go up in flames. 

Clone Trooper Tup of the 501st Legion has one fear. It’s not death.

It’s being forgotten. 

_“What is a legacy? It’s planting seeds in a garden you never get to see.”_

Tup has known since his earliest moments on Kamino that he was born and conditioned for one purpose. He used to stand at Dogma’s side, ever the model of a perfect soldier, and listen to the _Kaminise_ drone on and on about what their duty was once they were deployed and how they were all to follow orders without question. 

He hadn’t questioned that once until Umbara. Dogma was the _only_ one who was not willing to go against Krell’s orders despite the way it contradicted every single instinct that told Tup to go against it - to _screw_ orders and protect his brothers - and learn the dire consequences that would potentially have him facing court martial. 

The thought comes to his mind as he helps Jesse and Fives build the pyre while General Skywalker and Kenobi converse just on the runway of the airbase with Cody and Rex standing vigilant on either side of them. The ashes carry on the wind and flutter to a charred ground. Ruined from their massacre. Ruined from the war that continues to ravage the galaxy. 

He recites the Mandalorian death vows anyway and urges himself to put something to remember Hardcase on his armor when he returns home. It’s a nice way of remembering his older brother. Part of him secretly hopes that people - _Fives -_ would do the same for him when his time comes as well. 

Tup will never live up to the reputation of his _ori’vod._ Cody’s brilliance. Rex’s bravado, Five’s selflessness in the face of his brothers, Echo’s sacrifice... what will be _his_ legacy? What will he, in the end, be remembered for? 

Does he even want to be remembered? 

He asks Fives late one night when they’re stargazing together during a campaign. His blaster is laying at his side and his hands are tucked behind his head as Fives points into the sky and begins naming constellations. Tup knows Fives doesn’t care for science.. and begins to wonder who took the time to teach him all of this. 

Echo. It was Echo. 

“ _Fives,” He says softly. “When we go... how do you want to be remembered?”_

Tup has always wanted to die on the battlefield in glory of The Republic. The sheer act alone would make his brothers revere him for generations. 

“ _I want to die for our brothers. For our rights. For our rights as the men we are, not the numbers.. for us to have the lives the Kaminise didn’t give us as kids. That’s what I want.”_ He exhales slowly through his nose. “ _For my brothers to have some peace when the war ends.. If it ever does.”_

It’s not much longer when his mind begins to fray at the seams. The war has been going on for quite some time, and Tup is too young to be this _tired_ \- he’s still haunted by the nightmare of Dogma’s decommissioning and the fact the last time he saw his brother he was screaming to be saved - but Tup _couldn't,_ and so he dreams about Dogma’s ghost and wakes up screaming to Fives comforting hands rubbing up and down his arms. 

He hisses through his teeth, grips his blasters in his hands, and follow General Tiplar down the hall through the base on Ringo Vinda. The thoughts lingering in the back of his mind that he’s spent _all kriffing day_ pushing away are creeping to the forefront of his mind, taunting him, torturing him until they become _screams_ because they want him to _listen._ To _comply_ with their demands. 

_KillthejediKilltheJediKilltheJedi_

Tup barely hears Fives scream of protest as his pupils dilate, his weapon rises, and he shoots Tiplar in the back of the head with no hesitation. 

Someone screams across the battlefield. 

_Is this how you wanted to be remembered, you di’kut? Murdering a Jedi in cold blood in front of her sister?_

He asks himself that question for what feels like years. Even after he's taken to Kamino by more _vod_ for examination of the inhibitor chip in his brain that’s meant to keep them docile and compliant, Tup asks himself the very question that has plagued his thoughts since Umbara and before: How do you want to be remembered? 

Even with the incessant screaming inside of his head, he decides that the _wrong_ way of being remembered - _the one of which everyone will never forget -_ is his wrongdoing against Tiplar. _Tup_ knows it’s wrong. He loves the jettise. They are his _aliit._

CT-5385 praises himself for his actions. He did what he was created for. He did his duty. 

_But what is duty if the cost is... yourself? Your life?_

_What makes duty worth it?_

CT-5385 breathes his last on Kamino. Bathed in the cold, sterile light that birthed him, his eyes flutter heavily and his breaths shallow as he fights the urge to succumb to his own mind. 

He sees his brothers. The one’s who are gone, the ones who’re still fighting, and he nods. That’s it. 

That’s why duty is important. 

Tup instead watches Fives in his eyes sight as he takes his brothers hand, murmurs his final words, and succumbs to the unknown illness that has plagued his mind. 

He was a good soldier, and he followed orders.

He is the only clone before Order 66 to kill his Jedi. 

CT-5385 is one of the few clones on the Empire’s Wall of The Fallen: He is revered throughout the Empire as _**the clone who began the fall that was the end of the Jedi Order.**_


	6. Dogma

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is Dogma's story.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW// NEARLY ATTEMPTED SUICIDE   
> I did mention this fic was gonna be dark, so I'm asking gently - please read at your own risk, and be safe... be safe. I am always here to listen to you.

Dogma can’t stop his hands from shaking. It’s only been a matter of hours since the assassination on Krell, but his brothers have been trying to console him over his fear of being court-marshaled and being decommissioned. 

Clone trooper Dogma executed a rebel Jedi. 

He saved the world… but he murdered. 

With his own _hands._

Which won’t stop shaking. 

***

All his brothers are asleep. There are only a matter of them patrolling the base while the Jedi convene in the comms tower. No one will disturb him in the dead of night. No one but he, himself, and the demons raging havoc in his mind. 

_You see that blaster?_

His eyes flicker to the door of the armory. The end of a blaster sounds like _mercy._ Like if he goes in there, grabs that gun, and eats the end of it…. It’ll be better then what the Kaminoans inevitably have for him when he’s returned to Kamino. The _vode_ hear whispers about the threat of decommissioning before they’re deployed to their respected battalions upon finishing their training as cadets. 

_Follow your orders. Follow your orders, do your duty… or face decommissioning._

He is among the youngest of the brothers in the 501st. He is the youngest, and he was the most loyal until he defied Krell’s orders to save his _vode…_ and he is most definitely the one who is most prone to succumbing to his fear.

Dogma is young. He’s young, he’s _tired…_ and he does not want to hurt anymore. 

_Pick up the blaster, Dogma._

He snags the first DC-17 he sees and enters the bathroom. It’s vacant. The air is frigid here as he turns, locks the door, and sets the blaster down on the sink. _You useless skug. Do you not get it?_ Dogma’s eyes flicker back up to the mirror in which he’s greeted with his own worst nightmare. Himself. _What use are you now? You know this isn’t going to go as it was supposed to. You did the one thing that’s surely going to drag you down. Why don’t you do it first?_

Dogma can’t hear him, but Tup has trailed his brother through the base and to the bathroom. He’s panicking. He can’t _see_ his _vod’ika_ but Tup can _hear_ him… and he’s crying.

“Dogma!” He can’t shout. Tup cannot shout because that means he’s going to alert Rex or _someone_ of a higher power, and then Dogma is going to be kriffing screwed because then he’s gonna get sent back to Kamino with no question and Tup will be alone, without his batchmate. “Dogma, _vod’ika_ it’s _me-_ “ 

His hands are trembling so hard that he cannot keep a grip on the gun. His eyes burn. If Dogma looks at his reflection, all will be lost. He will be a coward. Dogma is _not_ a coward. 

He made that shot. His own hands took that life - despite how much Hell that Krell had put them through - and the things he can do, the capabilities he has… It terrifies him. He terrifies _himself._

 _And really this world will be a much better place without you in it. Do it._ Put your finger on that trigger. 

The bathroom is deadly silent. Tup is three seconds from kicking the door down because there is no _karking_ way this is happening on his watch. This is his little brother. His batchmate. The one he’s supposed to be protecting. 

Dogma closes his eyes, breathes in, and puts the blaster into his mouth. He prays to whatever God the Mandalorians believe in - because that is his livelihood, that is what he knows, he wants to believe someone might be _listening_ \- and curls his finger around the trigger. 

His whole life flashes before his eyes. Most of it is cold, sterile, _emotionless.._ but if he peers through the haze that clouds his mind - through the paralyzing fear of the end - he sees his brothers. All of them. 

At the front is Tup. Tup is always there. His older brother, his batch mate. 

_Bang._

The door rattles on its hinges as Tup kicks it in. It’s an older model of door, and it really _shouldn’t_ do that, but Dogma can’t find it in him to care as terrified brown eyes meet those of his older brother. 

He can’t do it. He can’t meet Tups eyes. 

“ _Dogma-”_

 _“_ I’m scared, Tup.” The blaster falls from his hands and clatters loudly against the floor. Hard enough to make Dogma wince as he falls to his knees in total and utter surrender. Tup scrambles to meet him. “I don’t want to die. I don’t want to be decommissioned for saving our _vod-”_

There in that bathroom, it is not two soldiers of the 501st Legion. It’s not _weapons_ having this conversation. It’s not a weapon holding a bleeding heart in its hands. It’s an older brother consoling his little brother who desperately just needs to be held. 

Touch is a crucial part of being a clone of the Grand Army of The Republic. 

“You acted on your heart, Dogma. That’s not cowardice. That’s _bravery._ That’s love. You love your _vod.._ and we all know it. We know. And we _thank_ you for your service to us. More then you realize.” 

His words are in vain. They bring him no comfort, not when they return to Coruscant and Dogma is court-marshaled. He never sees Tup again. He never sees the light of day again, he never sees the _sun._ He knows only Kamino. Only the cold. 

And when Order 66 is activated, Clone Trooper Dogma thinks this might be a better mercy then the one he tried to give himself. 

He no longer knows fear. Knows _pain._ Knows suffering. He knows only himself, the strength of his hands, and the cold. 

It’s always cold on Kamino. 

Even when he’s no longer on it. 


	7. ARC 5555 - Fives

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ARC Trooper Fives has one fear: It’s ending up like Tup. Cast away.. tossed aside.. forgotten. 
> 
> Too bad he doesn’t know he’s going to save the world. Or at least two people in that world.

Child Soldiers: Fives

Let me divert your attention away from the focus of the story for a minute, if I can. You’ve been hearing these snapshots - captures of the lives of specific clones - from their own perspectives. 

Now I want you to consider this with me. 

How do you want to be remembered? Do you want your name to dissipate... to be nothing but the ghost of a memory that tells of who you were?

Or do you want the future generations to write songs and build monuments for your heroic efforts in saving the world?

_Who are you?_

_ What will you be?  _

_ Will you be a memory?  _

ARC Trooper Fives thinks about this a lot. He thinks about Tup - his younger brother - and how he was so quickly forgotten as the war forged on. He thinks about those karking chips and how they’ve ruined his life, and he thinks about the end of all of this. What it will bring. How it ends for him.

It’s not often an ARC allows himself to feel emotion. He’d been trained to manage the worst types of situations, but not even the Kaminoans could’ve prepared him for the fear he felt on this scale.

He’s trying to tell them. Fives is trying to tell them, to make them see, but Anakin doesn’t believe him and Rex is battling his inner compass far too hard to be paying proper attention to him.

Then The Guard enters. Fives sees his entire life flash before his eyes in that moment. His instinct kicks in - the instinct to flee or fight - and his hands shoot outward for the DC-17s that Rex has laid beside Anakin’s lightsaber.

“ _Get away from me!”_

He’s not sure if it’s Fox or Thorn or who it is, but one of the vode raises his blaster and Fives is expecting to be met with darkness. Instead he is met with crippling pain that burns his entire chest and for some kriffing reason his first thought is  _ did Tup feel like this when he died? _

When he-

Oh. 

Fives has imagined a lot of things. Most of it focused on ensuring his brothers safety, on lifting them when they’re down. His focus has always been on others.. he’s never dealt with his own ghosts.

His own demons.

Rex is shouting somewhere behind him as he sinks to his knees and falls to the floor in a heap.

As he goes.. Fives fights his demons.

They wear the faces of the fallen brothers he’s seen left on planets, face down, forgotten. He sees Tup.. and Tup’ika is smiling. 

_Are you ready to come home, Fives?? It’s so nice here._ He pauses, considering his words.  _ Peaceful _ .

Huh. Fives has been so long immersed in chaos that he’s not sure he knows what peace looks like. Or feels like.

Is this it?

The end? 

_“I only wanted to do my duty.”_

Weak fingers scramble for purchase on Rex’s armor as he’s laid back on the ground. He’s not thinking about himself, or Rex, or how his vision is getting darker.

“ _The nightmares.. they’re really... over-“_

Fives biggest fear is becoming like Tup. Falling ill, needing help, seeking solace... and being cast aside. Being sent back to the Kaminoans for decommissioning.

It’s becoming lost to the galaxy. Being forgotten.

That’s the thing though. He won’t be forgotten... He’ll be erased. He’ll be reduced to a martyr, a traitor to the Republic, the man who attempted to kill the future Emperor.

What they don’t know? Fives’ sacrifice saved the lives of two people who would never be able to thank him for it. That’s what he did.. and maybe that’s what will be remembered about him.

Not the galaxy he failed to save, but the two lives he did.

“Vode an.”

Ahsoka murmurs this at the tomb of the 332nd. They might not be able to hear her, but Rex does, and she collapses into his arms without a breath of hesitation.

As Rex allows his sister to mourn her losses, he looks up to the stars. He’s never believed in any divine being but he does think his brothers are out there.. watching over him.. being proud of him. Hopefully.

As Rex looks up to the stars, he thanks Fives.

Tup smiles at his brother as they peer down at their Captain.. and together, they wave. 

His thanks was heard.


	8. CT-1409: Echo

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is Echo's story.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know it's been a long time since I updated this, so thank you to all of you who continued to read it. I think I'm going to try to get this finished by February. I've grown rather proud of how this work evolved and became one of the best fics I wrote. I hope you enjoy it!

Mental Prisons. Everyone has them. Everyone who has a single skeleton in their closet, a single sin they have committed, _all those people_ have a place they confine themselves when they go away inside. When they hide themselves away from the cruel reality they find themselves in.

For CT-1409, his mental prison is a stasis chamber inside The Techno Union.

His sins are committed for Wat Tambor.

Echo has spent so long being an algorithm, a tool, that he’s not sure there’s much more that remains of who he’d been before becoming a prisoner inside of his own mind.

His memories whisper to him as he presses his hand against the lid of the pod, begging to be saved.

_Fives._

_Fives._

_I’m still alive._

For Echo, no one will hear him.

***

When Echo gets rescued and tended to by Kix and Fives, he realizes that this is the first time he’s been safe in months. The Techno Union doesn’t control him, his actions, his thoughts, his body. He is free to be who he’d been before becoming a personal tool for a war he hasn’t ever wanted to fight in.

Except now, Echo is mostly metal. His mind is still his own - _or that’s what he believes -_ but his body is more tech now then flesh.

Echo still has his heart.

His heart that’s still a little too soft, a little too gentle, a little too _giving._

There’s nothing Echo wouldn’t do for his brothers, and there’s nothing Kix wouldn’t do for him.

He’s suffered enough.

***

Kix knows whenever Echo raises his gun on him that something is wrong. He may be relatively new to the Force and the ways that it works, but he can _feel_ the heat of his brother’s gaze from across a scorched battlefield. The way Echo raises his gun and nearly fires a blaster bolt into Obi-Wan Kenobi.

Kix has never thrown his Master aside so fast.

When they arrive on The Resolute, Kix fastens Echo to a medical table with the strongest restraints he has and asks Rex to remain behind in the off chance his younger brother begins thrashing relentlessly against his chains. They aren’t the only chains Echo has. Little to the knowledge of Kix and Rex, The Techno Union has somehow regained control of their experiment.

Like a puppet master pulling the strings.

Rex uncharacteristically throws himself into Kix’s side when Echo’s cybernetic arm comes up to nearly impale him through the stomach, knocking both clones to the ground as wide brown eyes fearfully wonder across the medical examination room the three of them stand in .

There’s not an inch of recognition in Echo’s eyes.

Inside his mind, he’s still locked inside that stasis chamber.

He’s still a prisoner.

“Who are you?” A question, one of uncertainty and unbridled fear, echoes in the air as Kix’s eyes gleam with unshed tears. Echo doesn’t know who this person is or why they look so identical, but there’s an aura of _safety_ and _love_ that surrounds him that makes Echo want to trust him.

“ _Just somebody.”_

Rex warns against Kix’s actions as the Jedi Force Healer presses his hands against Echo’s temple, whispers ‘’I’m sorry.” And forces his way inside.

The last thing Echo says before he passes out is a word he’s imprinted on his heart.

That’s the one thing they couldn’t take from him.

_Brother._

***

When Kix finds himself inside of Echo’s mental prison, he hears far more then he ever anticipated he would. The rattling of Echo’s lungs - _they wheeze when he’s upset or when he’s panicking and trying to ground himself -_ and the pounding of his heart, the way his breathing hitches when he cries or his hands pound against the door trying to free himself.

“ _Where’s my Echo?”_

A cyan lightsaber cuts through all his memories. The apparitions of Techno Union specialists and scientists who did the experiments to his younger brother, the form of Wat Tambor that lunges at him when he grows too close to the door, the groaning red lights that flicker to signal alarm to those who guard the building.

Kix doesn’t care.

He snaps his fingers, and those people who haunt Echo’s mind are gone.

The rattling gets a little quieter, the pounding heart a little gentler.

Kix enters the room with the stasis chamber and disengages his lightsaber, using The Force at his will to break the door clear off its hinges, and he rushes forward to catch Echo’s body in his waiting arms before his brother can fall and hurt himself.

Echo is a man in here. There’s no durasteel in any part of his body, no mechanics, nothing. It’s just a broken soul and a barely beating heart.

“ _Echo.”_ Kix cradles the back of his head and draws his brother to his shoulder, enveloping him in his arms. Echo forgot what it was like to feel warm, to be safe. “It’s okay, little one, it’s okay-“ Echo’s tears dampen Kix’s robes as he scrambles for a hold on his older brother. “I will keep you safe. _Darasuum.”_

That jolts Echo. That’s one of their words, a safe word, a word meant for Echo and Kix to remember their relationship and how important it is.

“ _You will keep me close.”_ Echo whispers. For the first time in weeks, he actually believes the sound of his own voice and what it’s trying to say.

Kix nods against his shoulder.

Echo’s last thought before he finds himself back in the medbay is that he really wants to see flowers.

He wants to live in a world where he know a peace like watching the flowers grow.

****

Everyone has their mental prisons. The place they escape to, the place they feel will cleanse them of their sins. The one place that reminds them of their wrongdoings.

Echo’s was cold. It was cold, and lonely, and he’s fought with more of his ghosts in the time following his release from the Techno Union. All the brothers who were lost in the time he was gone, all the ones who’ve been lost since he arrived, how everything keeps coming back to _death._

Sometimes Echo wishes he had died. He wishes Fives hadn’t found him, that Kix hadn’t healed him. Sometimes he wishes his mental prison and all the painful hallucinations that came with it - a reminder of his failures - were penance that he could keep as a reminder.

Echo opens his eyes and finds that all his nightmares have calmed. He’s no longer afraid to shut his eyes, to remember what they’d done to him. It’s like the slate has nearly been wiped clean.

Kix stumbles backwards as they part and flexes his aching hands against his sides. He’s clearly waiting to see if whatever he’d done had worked. Rex releases his restraints and Echo falls to his knees, gathering himself together, before he slowly rises from the ground and practically throws himself at Kix.

His chains are broken. He’s no longer being controlled by strings, he’s no longer subservient to the will of someone who had hurt him over and over and over again.

Echo is free.

“ _What does that word mean? It looks like it’s Aurebesh.”_

_Kix grinned. It was his newest tattoo, a commemoration for the very thing they were fighting so desperately to obtain._

_“It is. It means freedom.”_

Hm… freedom. Echo thinks he could grow used to liking that word.


End file.
